Brown Eyed Girl
by Lady Razorsharp
Summary: It's been sixteen years, but when String comes around asking questions, Ellie begins to wonder...did she ever stop loving Saint John Hawke? Inspired by the episode, HX1.
1. Da Nang, 1970

**AN: Airwolf and Co. belong to Mr. Bellasario, I'm just borrowing them for a little while. Inspired by the episode _HX-1. _The dialogue is taken directly from the episode.

* * *

Brown Eyed Girl**

by Lady Razorsharp

* * *

_Hey where did we go  
Days when the rains came  
Down in the hollow  
Playin' a new game  
Laughing and a running hey, hey  
Skipping and a jumping  
In the misty morning fog with  
Our hearts a thumpin' and you  
My brown eyed girl  
You my brown eyed girl_

_--Van Morrison, 1967_

--1970--

Saturday night in Da Nang wasn't anything to write home about--literally.

String never told Dom about what happened on the scant leave the brothers' unit managed to get between runs, but somehow String figured that Dom knew anyway. Santini had served in the Pacific and in Korea; he'd probably had his share of nights like this one--lonely, bone-weary, needing sleep and food but instead sitting in a smoky, noisy bar with bellyful of cheap beer. String closed his eyes; not only to keep the room from spinning, but also to focus on the Rolling Stones song blaring out of the jukebox. If he concentrated hard enough, he was back in Los Angeles, sitting at the bar by the beach, college students and pretty girls passing by.

_I can't get no sat-is-fac-tion..._

String swallowed, noting the sour taste at the back of his mouth. Damnit, the dream wasn't working tonight. He'd be puking his guts out in the alleyway in an hour, his older brother Saint John standing over him with disapproval, and their friend Mace laughing his ass off at "little brothers who can't hold their liquor."

"They asked if my intentions were honorable," Mace boomed in a beery voice from the opposite end of the bar, "So I said to her, 'Honey, you _know_ I'll be back after the war to help you plow those rice paddies.'" He guffawed coarsely. Everyone knew that Mace was much more interested in plowing farmer's _daughters_ rather than fields.

String fought the urge to roll his eyes; the motion would probably finish off his churning stomach. Mace Taggart was every inch a stereotypical G.I., a lanky blue-eyed cowboy with a mop of untamable brown curls and an easy charm that women on both sides of the Pacific responded to--with one exception: Ellie Jameson.

A California girl through and through, Ellie could have been the inspiration for a Beach Boys song with her blonde pigtails and freckles. With a bright smile and a cute figure that was visible even in Army-issue drab, Ellie was a civilian who worked for HeliPro, one of several corporations that supplied parts to the Army's fleet of Hueys. Many of the soldiers had fallen in love with her, but Mace had been among those whose hearts were broken wide open when she fell for Saint John Hawke. String treated her like a kid sister, but sometimes it seemed to him that her liquid brown eyes held too many secrets.

Tonight, watching her giggle drunkenly at Mace's raunchy story, String almost couldn't believe that Ellie--always outraged at Mace's behavior, always giving him a lecture about VD or the plight of mixed-race children--was the same person. What was more, String didn't need to see Saint John's eyes to know how what his brother was thinking--he could _feel_ the waves of disapproval coming off the silent figure sitting beside him.

Mace clinked beer bottles with Ellie. "Oh, well. Here's to love," he said in a voice that String guessed was supposed to mimic Maurice Chevalier.

Ellie grinned, her dark eyes unfocused. "Do you love me too, Mace?" she asked, her amiable nature blurred into teasing with too much alcohol. String wondered if Mace would be able to tell the difference, and waited to see what Saint John would do.

"Oh, you know I love you, baby." Mace gathered Ellie in his arms and gave her a quick, sloppy kiss. "But you just gotta get rid of this joker, Saint John."

String felt his brother tense beside him, but Saint John didn't move. String laughed inwardly; either Mace was incredibly stupid or incredibly drunk--kissing your best friend's girl while your best friend sat six inches away wasn't the best idea, but then Mace had always been too big for his own britches.

String watched Saint John's expression in the mirror behind the bar, and saw the anger and hurt simmering in the deep blue fathoms of his brother's eyes. For an instant, Ellie's smile faded. Her gaze skimmed over Saint John's but didn't stay there.

A half-hearted smile lifted one corner of Saint John's mouth, and he looked away. The smile didn't reach his eyes, and String's brow furrowed. Saint John was tired--they were all tired of the war, of being scared, of being away from home and loved ones, but seeing his brother's weariness made String's throat close up. Not for the first time, String wondered if their hard-won waiver against brothers being in the same unit had been worth all the trouble. He could have gone a lifetime without seeing Saint John like this, he thought, taking another swig of lukewarm swill.

Ellie squirmed in Mace's grip. "Mace," she said, laughing, "put me down." She landed awkwardly, staggering a little on her feet, and leaned on Saint John to steady her.

Saint John's poker face was legendary among the ranks, and he turned a version of it on Mace and Ellie. "You guys have had enough to drink; why don't you just float away?" he said in a tenor made raspy from shouting over the noise of chopper blades.

"Float?" Mace remarked in his patented smartass-remark tone. "That's the Navy." Apparently he'd gotten the hint from the edge of disgust in Saint John's tone, and he moved away from her to sit beside String. As he passed, Mace nudged Ellie a little too hard, and she sprawled into Saint John, who in turn bumped into String.

_Damn you, Mace,_ thought String, his stomach doing flipflops at the unexpected motion.

* * *

Ellie was draped bonelessly all over Saint John, her bell-like laugh slightly out of tune. "Float," she repeated, as if it were the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

Saint John looked up at her with an unsmiling gaze of piercing blue that was a Hawke family trademark. She'd learned that for String, it was a warning to stay away, but with Saint John, it was an open invitation to break down the door. Ellie leaned her chin on Saint John's shoulder and smiled up at him through the veil of her lashes.

"Do _you_ love me?" she asked, still teasing as she had with Mace, but her words were edged with warmth that not even too much bad _sake_ could erase.

It worked; the impassive mask began to show fine cracks in the marble, and something like the man she loved looked out at her as if trying to engrave her face on his memory.

"Do I love being alive?" he replied.

The seriousness of his tone shattered the party mood. Ellie pulled away, half-sober, wincing at the volume of the music. "Don't say that," she muttered darkly.

Saint John frowned. She could almost hear his thoughts: _Maybe we've _all_ had too much to drink_. He straightened from where he'd been leaning his elbows on the bar. "Ellie, I was just kidding," he said, in an all-too familiar tone she'd heard him use with his brother, a tone that said _It's over,_ _drop it.__  
_  
"Okay," she said, looking everywhere but at him, "but not here, not about that." She pushed away the nightmare images: The charred ruin of a burned-out Huey, rows of pine boxes draped with American flags, lists of MIA tacked on a board.

Finally, she raised her eyes to his. _Come on, Singe, _she thought. _Do I have to spell it out for you?__  
_  
Breathlessly, she waited as understanding dawned over his roughened features. A fleeting smile crossed his face, and she knew he was remembering sultry nights spent in a sweltering, dusty storeroom not far from where they sat.

_She kissed him; he tasted of cheap beer and sweat, and two days' worth of beard scratched against her skin. His hands were pulling her olive drab teeshirt out of her camouflage pants even as she unlatched his belt and popped the buttons of his fly. The boots were laced too tightly; they wouldn't be able to get them off in time, so they just pushed as much fabric out of the way as they could. Awkward as hell, but when it was over they grinned stupidly at each other, laughing and crying and laughing again. _

_The next time, he arrived with his laces loosened, and he'd actually managed to shave. They made an impromptu pallet on the floor using some old moving-van blankets, and she found some emergency candles which she stuck into a helmet full of sand. With the addition of some tinned rations that were still mostly edible, accompanied by a flask of scotch—'won it off Dunkirk in a poker game,' he explained——and they both agreed it was by far and away the most romantic night they'd ever spent with anyone._

His voice brought her back to the present. "I'd love you at home," he said, his quiet words almost drowned out by the cacophony of chatter around them.

Ellie blinked. _That sounded awfully like a proposal, Saint John Hawke,_ she wanted to say, but her heart was stuck in her throat. Instead she smiled, blushing like a schoolgirl. _What're you going to use for my engagement ring, a pop-top?_

Mace had witnessed the entire exchange, and right on cue, he covered his jealousy with a disgusted sneer. "Jeez, I think I'm gonna be sick," he drawled. Ellie supressed a snicker; all Mace needed to make the picture complete was to start yelling about girl cooties.

"_I'm_ gonna be sick," String muttered, looking a bit green around the gills. The kid was sharp and possessed a sense about his brother that bordered on eerie, but he was only twenty and skinny as a beanpole. Rotgut in Da Nang wasn't a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in old man Santini's backyard, but somehow Ellie didn't think String needed to be reminded of that fact just now.

Besides, she was too busy accepting a marriage proposal. She smiled at her unlikely groom.

"So are we gonna get married and have lots of kids?" Warmth spread itself from her core outward as she imagined herself carrying his child. They hadn't been careful; it could have already happened. The thought filled her with terror and joy.

If bombs had been falling outside, she knew he wouldn't have budged an inch. He saw only her. "Yep. Lots of kids."

Chin trembling, Ellie smiled and leaned in to capture Saint John's mouth in a kiss that spoke of hope and desperation. Her tears overflowed, and she broke away to bury her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, oblivious to the curious stares of the other GI's.

He ducked his head to whisper in her ear. "...lots of very beautiful kids."


	2. Downey, 1985

AN: Airwolf and Co. belong to Mr. Bellesario. I'm just borrowing them.

AN2: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! Here's the long-awaited second chapter to this story. String and Ellie's dialogue at her house is taken directly from the episode, HX-1.

* * *

--1985--

String got down the metal box from the shelf and opened it. Inside were newspaper clippings and a hand-lettered sheet listing the teams who played the Superbowl and the World Series for the past sixteen years. He finally found what he was looking for: A bit of newsprint, going slightly yellow, announcing the wedding of Eleanor Jean Jamieson to Arthur Peterson.

After a quick consult with the phone book, String reached for the phone and dialed the number. He pictured Ellie moving across the living room of some suburban house to pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Ellie Peterson?"

There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line. "Who's calling?"

String smiled. "This is Stringfellow Hawke."

"My God…_String_…is that _really_ you?"

"'s what it says on my pilot's license," String quipped. "How've you been?"

"Just fine, just…wow, _Stringfellow Hawke_. How long has it been?"

_Too long,_ thought String. "'Bout…sixteen years, last time I counted."

She laughed. "I'm surprised you can remember back that far. I have a hard time remembering what I did yesterday." They laughed together for a moment. "So what are you doing with yourself these days?"

String shifted in his chair and closed the phone book. "This n' that. Keepin' busy." His eyes went to the faded photograph of himself, Dom, and Sinjin at the lake.

"Say, Ellie," he began, "there's some things going on that I'd like to talk to you about."

Concern darkened her tone. "What kinds of things?"

"Just some stuff I've been hearing about some of the guys me and my brother hung around with in Vietnam." He waited, half-expecting the line to go dead—and with it, the glimmer of hope he had for finding Sinjin.

The seconds ticked by until Ellie finally spoke. "I can't remember the last time I heard from those guys—probably sometime before I got married." She sighed. "I don't know how much help I can be to you, String."

Sixteen years of following leads to dead ends had given String enough practice at keeping disappointment out of his voice. "Well, let me give you a number—I don't have a phone at my place, but you can leave a message with Dom and I'll get it."

"Hang on, let me get something to write with—Justin, no no, sweetheart—well, I guess crayon is better than nothing," she laughed. "Go ahead."

String gave her the number at Santini Air, and Ellie read it back to him. The conversation was beginning to wind down when she said, "Hey, if you're not busy, why don't you come over for dinner? I got a really nice sea bass this morning at the fish market, and I'm about to put it on the grill."

"I'd like that," said String, and meant it.

* * *

The address Ellie had given him led String to a quiet neighborhood in Downey, and he got out of the Jeep and walked up the paved path to the door. The lawn had been mowed recently, and a lawn jockey stood guard. Whoever Arthur Peterson was, he made a decent living. String smiled to himself; Sinjin would be pleased to know Ellie was well-taken care of.

He knocked on the door, and after a few moments, it swung open to reveal Ellie, her dark eyes shining.

"My God," she breathed. "It really _is_ you." She took a step forward and threw her arms around him in a fierce hug. "Little Stringfellow Hawke, all grown up." She pulled away with a smile. "I almost didn't recognize you out of uniform."

He laughed. "You look great, Ellie." It was true; she was still just as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her, the day before she was due to be rotated out and sent back to the States. That had been two weeks after Sinjin disappeared, and as she left, Ellie had hugged him just as hard then, and whispered into his ear: _Find him, String. Find him and tell him I love him._

He blinked, and that pigtailed, teary-eyed girl dissolved into the smartly dressed woman with a wedding ring on her left hand in front of him. She was looking at him strangely and seemed about to open her mouth to say something when a piercing wail sounded from the back of the house.

"Looks like someone's up from his nap," she said ruefully, rolling her eyes. "I'll be back in a minute. Why don't you go on out to the patio and we'll catch up with you?"

Shortly after String navigated the tastefully furnished living room and found his way through the kitchen out to the patio, Ellie appeared with a towheaded toddler in her arms. "This is Justin," she said, setting him down on the pavement. "Can you say hello, sweetie?"

"Howdy, pardner," drawled String.

Justin looked up into String's face and smiled. "Hod dis," piped Justin, as he offered String a plastic spoon.

"Sure," said String, just in time to accept a Dixie cup full of Cheerios. He set both on the table beside him, then lifted the toddler into his lap and gave back the spoon and the cereal.

Ellie laughed as her son sat contentedly in String's lap and perfected the fine art of spooning dry Cheerios. "He likes you."

String grinned, feeling strangely content. For an instant, he half-expected to see Sinjin come out of the house with a couple of beers and plop down in the chair next to him.

Ellie turned the fish she was grilling. "So, are you still working for the Firm?"

String's eyes widened slightly, but then he chuckled. He'd forgotten how honest and direct Ellie was; she wasn't like other girls and that was what had endeared her to both Hawke brothers.

He lowered his head in a conspiratorial whisper to Justin. "She wants to know if I'm working for the Firm."

Ellie laughed, a little of her old playfulness coming back. "Almost everybody knew it."

'Everybody' meant the guys in their circle who stayed in the military community—and not always the ones on the up-and-up. Dunkirk inparticular was one of those, who, like many other vets, had returned to the States to find he wasn't welcome. He couldn't hold a steady job anywhere, so he created his own profession and brought others like himself into it. He was the one who had found out what String was doing, and it became a big joke—little brother Hawke working for the man, but still with that rakish air of thumbing one's nose at convention that the group respected. Sinjin had also let the group know a long time ago that String was off-limits, so no one touched him. And no one wanted to tangle with old man Santini, either.

"We were that obvious, huh?"

She smiled. "Only to those who loved you…and worried about you."

String, nonplussed, felt a rush of heat in his cheeks from the sudden heartfelt words and turned away to dip his fingertip in the frosting of the generous slice of cake at his elbow.

"Not bad," he commented, letting the sweet flavor roll over his tongue. "Homemade?"

Ellie laughed; String had the feeling that she was as amused by the dubious note in Hawke's voice as his attempt to change the subject.

"Arthur made it," she replied, gesturing to the cake.

"No kidding," String smiled, genuinely impressed.

Ellie grinned. "No." She turned the chicken and the kid-sized burger beside the fish. "No, as a matter of fact…" She put the tongs down and settled on the low table beside String. As she sat, she put the plateful of cake down on the cement so it wouldn't get squished.

"…Arthur made _him_, too." She pointed at the towheaded boy in String's lap. "Pretty good, huh?" Her tone was one of _Who'da thunk it, String? We did turn out okay after all_.

Here it was, the question that would determine if she could be of any help to him or not: "Does he love you, Ellie?"

Ellie took a breath but didn't speak for a moment, almost as if she was deciding how to answer. "Yes," she answered finally.

String looked at her for a moment, weighing the truth of her answer. _I would have liked being her brother_, he thought.

"Good," said String, content to let it lie. He'd seen other good women waste their lives pining for someone who might never come home, and he didn't wish that fate on Ellie.

Her next words, however, confirmed String's suspicions. "…of course, being married to an accountant isn't exactly…" Ellie paused as if fishing for a comparison. "…Saturday night in Da Nang with _Sinjin Hawke_."

She said his brother's name teasingly, stressing the oddity of the pronunciation, but with tenderness, lingering over it as if she hadn't said it in years. String chuckled ruefully; thankfully, there _was_ nothing like Saturday night in Da Nang.

"Well," he said easily, "at least you're happy."

Ellie didn't say anything. She didn't have to; her sigh, smile and shrug said it all. She got up and moved behind String, tapping her finger along his leather-clad shoulders. He looked up, patiently awaiting the flood of words he could feel cresting beneath her silence.

* * *

She wrapped her hands around the upright of the porch, unable to face those steel-blue eyes. They were Sjinin's eyes, the ones that could read her with a glance…

Away from String's piercing gaze, she could finally say it. "We had it all, he and I."

String didn't miss a beat, as if they had been having this conversation all along. "You had more than that," he replied.

Ellie frowned, but she didn't disagree.

"My one night of folly with Captain Mace Taggart," she said unhappily. She blew out a sigh, one that was heavy with years of regret. "Boy, Ellie-girl, did you blow it…a lover's quarrel with Sinjin Hawke, the guy you've always dreamed about…"

There it was. After sixteen years, it was all on the table. She let her head rest against the railing; the cool metal beneath her fingers was part of the good home Arthur had provided. She'd made the decision long ago when she married Arthur to never speak of Sinjin again, and now…

She wished she'd never answered the phone.

* * *

String knew she was talking mainly to herself, but the way she said his brother's name again confirmed his original suspicions: Ellie was still very much in love with Sinjin. He had no desire to hurt Ellie, but if he could count on that love to tip the scales in his favor and solve the mystery, he would do it. The Davsco raid was the biggest lead he'd had in sixteen years, and he'd be damned if he let it get away.

Unaware of his musings, Ellie was continuing to spin the painful tale, bringing back memories he'd though were long buried.

"…a one night stand with Mace because we had a fight and too much wine, and then bingo! Our future's down the tubes." She shook her head.

String remembered the night Ellie was talking about. Ellie and Sinjin were supposed to spend the night together but they had a fight, made worse by too much alcohol. When Mace got it in his head to 'protect' Ellie from Sinjin, String got in the middle of it and pushed Mace, and the fight was on. Only Sinjin kept it from becoming a brawl, hauling String out by the scruff of his neck. The next day…

_Sinjin stood glaring at Mace, arms akimbo. "Where were you last night?"_

_Mace finished tying down a tarpaulin. "Passed out in that fleabag flophouse they call a hotel." He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I feel like I look."_

_String laughed. "It's a good look for you."_

_Mace took a swipe at String, who easily danced out of the way. "Get bent, Stringfellow," spat Mace._

_Sinjin ignored the exchange and caught Mace's arm in a strong grip. "Was Ellie with you?"_

_String had to hand it to his brother; the man had some guts._

_Mace scoffed. "Why would__** I**__ be with __**your**__ girlfriend?"_

"_I dunno. Were you?"_

"_Oh, come on, Sinj!" Mace yelled, yanking his arm out of Sinjin's grip. "She was upset. You're always getting on her case about some guy you saw her with."_

_String bristled. "That's a lie," he growled._

_Sinjin put a hand against his brother's chest, but didn't take his eyes from Mace. "I was busy making sure String didn't end up in the brig. When I looked up you two were gone." Sinjin's steel-blue eyes flashed dangerously, warning of a storm brewing behind them. "Now I'm not very good at math, but even I can put two and two together."_

_Mace glared at Sinjin. "She was really drunk, and she couldn't stop crying, so I stayed with her. I was afraid that you'd come back and things would get really ugly."_

_String popped his knuckles. "They're about to get really ugly __**now**__," he muttered._

"_Knock it off, String." Sinjin shot a deadly look at his younger brother. "You've been in enough trouble in the last twenty-four hours." He darted his gaze back to an uncomfortable-looking Mace. "Did you sleep with Ellie?"_

_Taggart swiped at his sweaty forehead. "Sinj, I told you, she was upset—"_

_The blond pilot took a step closer to Mace. "Did you?"_

_For a moment, String was sure Mace was going to deny it. He would later wonder if Taggart saw murder in the eyes of his 'little brother,' because Mace looked away and sighed explosively. _

"_Fine," snarled Mace. "You want to know so bad? Fine. We did it. You happy now?"_

_String's eyes darted to his brother's face, and saw the flash of pain that was quickly shuttered away behind a wall of ice._

"_We're brothers, Tag," Sinjin said softly, as Mace turned and sat heavily on a crate. He shook his head. "How could you?"_

_Mace buried his head in his hands. "So maybe I was jealous, okay? You got Ellie, and what did I get? Farmers chasing me through rice paddies with pitchforks." He laughed mirthlessly. "But I want you to know something, Sinj," he bit out, raising his head to fix Sinjin with narrowed eyes. "She may have been in my bed, but her heart was with you."_

_Sinjin's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"_

_Mace turned an interesting shade of red. "Ellie…she…well, she said your name while we were doing it." He buried his flaming face in his hands. "God, I can't believe I just told you that."_

_Sinjin seemed to absorb the knowledge, and then leaned down so he was at Mace's eye level. "Like I said, Tag—we're brothers. But if I ever catch you near Ellie again, so help me God, I'll rip out your intestines and hang you with them."_

String was pulled back from the memory by Ellie's half-stifled sob. There had been no 'next time' for her and Sinjin, and the last time String saw Sinjin and Mace, they were running for their lives from the VC swarming over a reed-strewn beach, their chance at escape taken away by the luck of the draw.

"String," Ellie whispered bitterly, "_why in hell are you bringing him back into my life?"_

He sighed; he'd pushed too far. He reached for her, trying to pull her down to sit beside him. "Ellie," he murmured, as she sank cross-legged to the concrete. "Ellie, he's not dead."

* * *

String's words had a conviction in them that spoke of either blind denial or overwhelming hope. Ellie knew String well enough to know that it wasn't the former, but she couldn't even allow herself to _think_ it might be true.

"Oh, String…"

"I think he pulled off that Davsco aircraft raid," String countered.

"_No," _she said flatly. "Dear _God_, String. Give yourself a _break_." Her words sounded false even to her own ears, as if she were reading a bad movie script. "He's gone. Accept it. _Forget it_."

Justin, sensing his mother's emotion, had begun to fidget. She rose onto her knees, taking Justin into her arms.

"I mean," she said, as tears threatened to shred her voice to ribbons, "don't _torture_ yourself after all these years."_ He's dead, he's dead and gone and this is my life_, she repeated to herself. She clung to Justin, hugging him tightly.

A horn honked, and a small economy car pulled into the driveway. A man in a business suit with a briefcase got out, then rested the case on the top of the car and shuffled through the papers inside for a moment.

Ellie felt relief flood through her, and the spectre of Sinjin Hawke retreated into the distance at the sight of her husband. "That's Mr. Six-Eighteen."

String smiled quizzically. "Six-Eighteen?"

"Arthur pulls into the driveway every day at exactly—" Ellie glanced at her watch. "Six-eighteen. You can set you watch by him…and your life."

She knew String had to give it one last shot, so she was prepared for it when it came: "Ellie, when you came back, did you ever think about Sinjin? Like when you've seen a face on a bus, or at a ball park?"

Ellie bounced Justin gently and looked String straight in the eye. "No, Hawke. Never. Not once—until you, coming here..."

There were footsteps on the walk, and she looked over her shoulder as her husband approached. She pasted on a happy smile for Arthur's benefit and shot a glance at Hawke that said _I have a good life, please don't mess it up!_

"Hi hon! I want you to meet an old friend."

* * *

"I'm glad you came by, String," said Ellie, walking him out to the porch after dinner. "Really, I am."

"Me too," he said. "I'm happy for you, Ellie. Arthur's a real nice guy."

She smiled. "Yeah, he is." She sighed, leaning against the porch railing. "Look, String…if I ever thought you could find Sinjin…if I ever thought he made it out of that hellhole alive…" She raised tear-filled eyes to String, seeing the echo of her first love on his younger brother's face. "Just find him, String. Find him and bring him home, for everyone who misses him. Even if it's just some bones in a box, bring him home."

She leaned over and kissed String's cheek, then turned and ran back into the house.

Later that night, Ellie crept into her son's room and stared down at him as he slept peacefully. Not for the first time, she found herself imagining that Justin was Sinjin's child, and that the pilot was sleeping in the room down the hall, awaiting her return to his side.

_I love Arthur; I do_, she thought fiercely. Arthur was kind; Arthur was gentle. Arthur made a good living; he was a good father. He didn't drink, didn't smoke, went to church, paid his taxes…

Ellie sighed. Was it possible for a man to be _too_ good?

She made up her mind. She had to tell String what she knew of what Dunkirk and the others were doing. She couldn't tell Arthur; he'd never understand. She'd told him that she'd been involved in some shady stuff before their marriage, but that when things got too dark she'd gotten out of it before it could go any further. Then Dunk had called out of the blue a year ago, much like String himself had, only this call wasn't welcome. _Thought you might be able to help us out, love_, Dunk had said, in that flippant Cockney drawl of his. _Nice paycheck in it for you. What say we have a go at it, eh?_

She'd told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his offer, and he'd backed off. Since that day, though, a creeping dread had threatened to overshadow her, and with String's visit it had rose to a fever pitch. It had to end somewhere, and this was where it stopped.

Letting herself into the office, she sat down at the desk and flipped on the light. She picked up the phone and tapped the 'O' button, and then picked up a pencil and a piece of paper.

"Information, how may I help you?" said a pleasant voice on the other end.

"Yes, I need the address for Santini Air in Van Nuys, please."


End file.
